


Hinder

by peachy_bees



Category: The Walking Dead (Comics), The Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead (Telltale Video Game)
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Child Abuse, Child Death, Christianity, Dysfunctional Family, Family Feels, I'm Bad At Tagging, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Negan (Walking Dead) Being an Asshole, Negan Being Negan (Walking Dead), Nondenominational Christian, Past Abuse, Reader Insert, Smut, Suburbia, Swearing, eventually, male reader - Freeform, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-02-22 11:18:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13165818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachy_bees/pseuds/peachy_bees
Summary: As fast-paced as the apocalypse can be, you need to hinder the fiery coals of a radically changing world and slow down for an emerging relationship.





	1. At Fault

He remembered daydreaming about an apocalypse. Not the kind ending in spilt blood or a plague or some biblical prophecy, but one ending in silence; solitude. The kind depicted in sci-fi films about the end of the world, one man left to survive on his own. The earth is quiet, no car honking or chattering of people in neighbourhood cafés. The sound of a stereo at a neighbourhood party, and the sirens of cops that were called after noise complaints; they ceased to exist. Nothing except the sounds of nature and the absence of most human life. Maybe a growl or two if you’re lucky.  
He believed this was his reality at times, that he really was in that b-rated sci-fi movie (the one he wasted the twelve dollars on that he saved up with his friends, the oldest of the group sneaking the gaggle of 11 and 10 year olds into the PG13 movie,) whenever he got too comfortable with the silence and having himself as the only company he had. But as always he had to brush away that peaceful certainty and dive into the apocalypse that had begun both in blood and plague, on top of the religious end of times. That was at least what his church had been preaching prior to the outbreak, anyway. He’s reminded that the dead ruled over man and the world he had once known it as was taken and tossed carelessly into a bottomless trash bin God labelled “Oops,” never to be seen again. It was kind of sick in a way, not that it mattered. His faith had been burning out since the end of times started to appear on the news and on street corners,  the homeless held signs with bible quotes and prepared for the worst. The once blazing bonfire of faith dwindled into steaming coals of doubt.

Before the apocalypse, his church was raving about the end of the world, and “Judgement day is coming! Cleanse yourself of sin!” was the only thing he heard for weeks. Needless to say his little 11 year old brain was oblivious to it and instead continued to play with the other kids, colouring in pictures of cartoon white-washed Jesus. Then the broadcasts started popping up in the middle of his shows in the morning during breakfast as his parents were getting ready for work. So much for Rugrats.

Fast-forward to few months ago, his group was taken by the dead. Him and his group were just about to begin thriving. They had put up fences that could hold a small group of walkers from caving it in around a plot of farmland, which had a cycle where a few people would circle the fences and keep watch, day in and day out. Years of desperation and pure drudgery finally paying off. The day everything was destroyed, (Y/N) was with a little girl, picking out ripe vegetables from the garden while her mother washed clothes a couple yards away. The day seemed as normal as any other, as normal as it could be. The little girl, her name was Samantha but he called her Sammy because it made her giggle, had been picking only the reddest of tomatoes in the garden while he told her that it was okay that they weren’t entirely ripe, that they could be a little green. “We can have them sit out for a day, they’ll be fine then,” he’d say, a playfully exasperated sigh on his lips.

Her unsuspecting mother was watching them, a melancholy smile on her thin lips, her eyes pensive. She was happy that even though there weren’t many little kids Sammy’s age, that her daughter still had someone to play with, even if that person was a nineteen year old boy who had to kill his own family to keep them from turning. He’d fall in love with the ragtag family of theirs and would be welcomed in with open arms and cared for for as long as he needed them after he was torn from his real one.

When they first found him, 7 whole years ago, (Y/N) was crying- no, _bawling_ his eyes out, laying in a thick pool of blood, a mallet in his hand from his dad’s shed while his parents laid carelessly on the floor next to a dead walker, just a gory lifeless pulp. It happened in seconds but whenever he replayed it in his mind, it lasted hours, haunting him when he couldn’t seem to get to sleep in the ominously quiet early hours of the morning. (Y/N) had left the front door open after running into the house with the childlike aura still floating around his short stature, he had found a flower in the yard. Their lawn wouldn’t grow anything except mediocre greenish yellow grass, his father was somewhat ashamed of it because in this neighborhood, your lawn was the first thing others would see and the suburbia dream land of bullshit wanted to keep it’s image clean and presentable. They tried and tried, fertilizer after fertilizer, yet nothing. The lawn was barren of life. He never gave up, even after his father had and just accepted the raised eyebrows and looks of distaste that would be thrown his way. In a fleeting few moment of happiness, (Y/N) gushing out how something finally grew, a walker had followed him into the house, then stumbled towards the kitchen as he babbled. One thing led to another. His parents were only trying to save him.

His father slit his own throat out of impulse after being bitten, which left his mother to scream and hit her husband's chest as blood ran from his neck like a broken faucet, (despite the pain in her arm from her own bite,) for leaving her like this. Moments later she then too sliced across her neck with a hunting knife, the same selfish desire to die before turning in her eyes.

_“I’m sorry, (Y/N).”_

This left their youngest child at the mercy of finishing them off. Now, no, he did not exactly kill his parents, but in his mind he did. The walker came in only because he didn’t close the damn door. Because he didn’t close the door, his parents were as good as dead. The 4 other siblings, old enough to hunt according to their parents, didn’t find out until they had dragged a deer home to find that their little brother was gone, rescued by the group who had heard his anguished screams, and their parents dead on the floor of their childhood home. He hadn’t seen his siblings since, or knew if they were even alive for that matter.

He can imagine the screams from his sisters and his older brothers panicking and blubbering, _“How could you leave us_ _like_ this _?”_ The cuts across their throats evident.

The peaceful setting of your second home came to an end with one abrupt, stealthy bite into Samantha’s mother’s neck. He watched the scene, everything moving in slow motion, horror in his eyes as he rewatched his family getting infected. Samantha was screaming, her mother yelling that she loved her. Sammy beat on (Y/N), pounding her little fists into his chest and head. But, he was frozen in fear just as he was seven years ago. The tear and snot covered child screamed bloody murder while the watchmen shot at the large lumbering crowd of walkers who toppled the fences effortlessly. Their bullets weren’t of much use.

Sammy, at the beautiful age of seven, was then ripped away, receiving the same ending her mother endured. In a brief flashing moment of clarity, (Y/N) slipped his knife from his belt and rammed it into the base of the corpse’ skull. At seven, (Y/N) was going to church bake sales. At seven he was learning how to play video games that his older brothers bought with their allowance. At seven he was still weary to learn how to ride a bike. At seven he was not fearing death like Samantha; not left to be torn to shreds by walkers because even though she was screaming, no one would listen.

 _This is_ my _fault._

Watching the distress on Sammy’s face reminded him of the same expression he had when his parents had been bit, a screaming 11 year old with gore splattered on his skin and begging to the God he still half-heartedly believed in to bring them back. Except now he was a man without a god. A man who froze up when disaster could have been averted.

(Y/N) cradled that little girl while bullets ricocheted around the both of them, the deafening sound of gunfire and garbled growls ringing in his ears. He almost didn’t notice he was sobbing as he tried to coo at Sammy, let her know her mommy was waiting for her in heaven on the fluffiest cloud, the one she pointed out yesterday while the both of them picked flowers from the patch of flat grass near the barn. That everything was going to be fine and she wouldn’t have to endure this pain much longer. That he loved her with all his heart and that she was the little sister he never had. Incoherently murmuring these soft words through broken sobs that were dripping with spit and mucus, he noticed her head fall back limp, the small hand that had gripped his dirty tee-shirt with such desperate force had relaxed. Sammy’s face no longer showed pain, instead showing peace.

She was gone.

 

___

 

Most likely everyone else in that ragtag family of his was dead after he left. Hyperventilating, he sprinted to the closest road where a car was stored in case of emergency. He had managed to escape, escape with nothing but the clothes on his back and the bag he had at his side. It was _something_. Even though the car which would’ve been his saving grace was gone, that he’d have to set out on foot and hope for the best, he was okay, or as much as one could be. His bag had a gun, a few rounds, a protein bar, a half-empty canteen, and a little note card in a plastic tag saying “This bag belongs to: (Y/N),” and “If found call: _blank,_ ” His name had faded over the years, and was a grey-blue smear at this point, but the telephone number he hadn’t even written down before shit hit the fan because he couldn’t remember his home telephone number for the life of him.  
Over the months he estimated had past since he was last with his group, he judged about three, (Y/N) managed to gather bits and pieces of food and supplies, all of which were hastily shoved into the messenger satchel after realising he wasn’t alone in the crumbling stores. (Y/N) did his best to conserve ammo, he believed he’d only used 3 bullets so far, and that was only when situations became dire. Although he knew one bullet for sure was because he forgot to put the safety on, nearly taking his damned foot off. If using the gun could be avoided, there was a rather hefty hunting knife on his belt at all times, a dull one at that.  
He didn’t entirely know where he was going or if he even had a destination in mind in the first place as he wandered. But nonetheless, he walked the abandoned streets and scavenged what he could. If he correctly counted the days like he thought, it would’ve been the first of October, maybe the second. Although he probably could’ve guessed that by the way the trees shook out their green pigments in exchange for their fiery hues.  
Noticing an old forgotten crossroad, he glanced down the other directions and decided on the one which seemed to lead to someone’s old hometown they kept trying to visit but never found the time to to his left. Maybe he’d find some mom n’ pop stores that weren’t bare to the bone. Find some matches, or whatever.

Crows snipped at _something_ in the middle of a crosswalk. _Gross_. Pharmacie, bank, hardware shop, diner, corner stores and a family grocer. Lady luck be with him, he really needed it. His stomach begged for something, anything, so he hoped dinner would be hiding somewhere. He went with his best bet to find food, the grocer. The day grew late and he would just have to explore the town with haste, not to be caught outside at night.  
(Y/N) went through the regular procedure: find an entry point, knock, wait to hear if something stirs within, stealthily take out whatever’s inside, then begin the raid. And as he thought, the store was pretty stripped of anything useful. Most stores nowadays were pretty bare, you might find a matchbook and if you're lucky there might _actually_ be matches in it. Figures. Trailing his fingers over the miscellaneous items, he took what was useful. He steered clear of the moldy, decayed, and sprouting produce on the right side of the store. Time to scan for something worth his while. Old newspaper, no. The tube from a roll of toilet paper, nope. A double A battery, probably dead. Aha, a can. Of something. _Pray it’s not dog food._ He tried to be quick about it as the sun was about to dip below the horizon. One last lap around each aisle ended his scavenge, and now the last rays of sunlight peeked through the grimy windows of the shop.

 _Great, it’s dark now._ He thought. (Y/N) hoped he could at least have had time to look for a house or something to crash in for the night.

Though in the corner of his eye he noticed a door that said,‘Employees Only’ on a tilted sign. _Seems promising._ It would have to do for the night. With his knife ready by his side he jiggled the door handle. Luckily, it was unlocked. A squeaky twirl of the handle definitely ruined his attempt at keeping this intrusion stealthy in case someone or something was behind the door. To his surprise there was no one, although it looked like there was somebody holed up here for a time, but it was noticeably abandoned now.

_Score, couple unopened cans._

The cans, their labels missing or faded unfortunately, were on top of a stubby table next to a bare mattress, unappealing sweat stains were scattered all over it. It was better than a concrete floor, so he shrugged his jacket off, light squeaks coming from the rough leather, then laid it over the bed to cover what he could. His aching muscles strained and attempted to relax. With a huff, (Y/N) plopped onto the mattress, which upon landing to test it, realised it wasn’t much better than the floor and it was comparable to crumbly cinder block. Oh well.  
The little office was pretty naked besides a desk paired with an a worn swivel chair, and or course the mattress with the small table. A few photos were tacked to the walls, assumably of the business owners and their families. A soft ache in his heart made him look away. He crawled over to open the drawers. A few more cans, thank God, a change of clothes, ammo for a shotgun, which sadly was nowhere insight. The last survivor here must’ve taken it but absentmindedly forgot the box of ammo in a sudden need to flee. In an attempt to keep himself from meeting the same fate, he rolled the desk chair over and propped it against the door that led through the main shop room. Well, it’ll hold. Maybe not for long but maybe enough to wake up and prepare to leave like the other guy. There was another door on the opposite wall, though that one had a lock on it. Cautiously he peeked out and found that it opened to the alley in between this shop and some mom n’ pop diner beside it. Could be a useful escape route if he needed it. (Y/N) shut it and switched the deadbolt, jiggling the handle to test its strength. Pretty solid.

It was time to hit the hay. Glancing at his watch, it was roughly nine o’clock and he needed to get up early to scavenge the rest of the commons get the hell out of this town. He never stayed anywhere too long, afraid that he’d stumbleupon some wandering group, or worse they stumbleupon him. These days it’s kill or be killed; and no one trusted anyone but their own now.

 

___

 

_“Why didn’t you save me?”_

_“I’m so sorry…”_

_“You didn’t save me. You let me die.”_

_“I’m so sorry, please…”_

_“You killed me.”_

_“Samantha…”_

_“You killed me!_

_You killed me!_

_You killed me!”_

 

___

A gasp, a feverish jolt upwards, and the realisation he was still in the store was the delightful way he woke up that morning. He clutched his chest like it’d slow his feverishly beating heart.

That nightmare made him wake up with nausea every day, reliving the horror of watching an innocent little girl’s neck get torn apart as he fled to save his own skin; usually people have a cup of coffee to wake up instead of reliving trauma. Even if he did start to vomit, there wasn’t much that would come up, forcing him to dry heave out a window with a mock prayer that it would end as soon as possible.

He felt so selfish that he grabbed his bag and just ran after watching his second family being torn apart. He ran and ran until his legs faltered and gave in beneath him, dropping him to his knees in the middle of a long forgotten road before sobbing until he couldn’t anymore. Until his lungs burned for air and his eyes were parched. (Y/N) knew by the time he had noticed she had been bitten it was too late and that he couldn’t have done anything anyway, panic-stricken or not. But every logical reason he had to defend his actions, or lack there of, still left him with a sour flavour on his tongue.

Wiping away the cold sweat on his brow, he let out a heavy sigh. It was thick with morning breath and whines from his stomach. (Y/N) hadn’t ate the night before like a dumbass even though the couple extra cans he found would’ve allowed him to.

In the midst of the apocalypse it seemed as if he had aged thirty years despite being a 19 year old. His bones became old, muscles straining to feel youthful without a proper bed to sleep on at night. The musty twin mattress on the floor he slept on wasn’t quite up to par, but it was better than the unforgiving concrete floor. He ‘oughta find a nice home in the rural suburbs with a normal damn bed one of these days, his neck was killing him.

Without any heat, the can of soup he cracked open for breakfast was interesting to say the least. Funny how things tasted so different depending on the temperature. The quarter full canteen of water on the desk preoccupied his thoughts as he stared at it from across the room, happily lapping at the plastic spoon holding a heap of chunky soup. It was the only water he had left after an unfortunate encounter with a walker. The damn thing snuck up on he while he was taking a sip; he ended up spilling it once he recognised the snarl and haphazardly jumped for his knife. _Good going, dude._ The recent migraines indicated he was dehydrated but his stubborn nature said it was best to ration it. It hadn't rained in weeks so he assumed it would be awhile before it rained again, and only then he could gather some clean water. No one could trust freshwater anymore with the possibility of oozing and water logged walkers at the bottoms of lakes and rivers. Thankfully he was finished with breakfast or his appetite would’ve been ruined with that thought.

The ribbed interior of the can vibrated as he scraped the spoon against it in a greedy attempt to scoop out the remaining scraps. It wasn’t Sunday dinner after a long ass prayer with his family, the ones he’d sneak bites of food in during anyways, but it was pretty damn close. If his mother ever caught him sneaking a carrot or a scoop of potatoes during prayer she’d swat his hand, her brows furrowed while his mother attempted to appear upset with him, but then he’d laugh and tell her that she was the one with her eyes open during grace. Dad would laugh like he hadn’t had a bad day at work, followed by his siblings chuckles. Then dinner would begin like any other night and they’d talk about one another's day. Remembering that middle class suburban dream had him at a loss for words. (Y/N) was a hardened person now. Before he was a little boy wearing shorts and a button down, running with his friends to sunday school. Now he sported a gory hoodie under a worn leather jacket, fingerless gloves that have almost run their course on his now calloused hands, legs clad with blood stained jeans and boots one size too big on his feet, all wrapped up with a cold glare on his face. His mother probably would’ve fainted ever seeing him like this.

It was all pastels and khaki back then. Turns out even in the apocalypse he got some sort of rebellious punk phase. One of his sisters was in the middle of one when it started. She had gotten a nose ring, much to his mother and fathers distaste. (Y/N) found it strange but intriguing nonetheless. Why willingly poke holes in your body? That and his mother said it was a sin to augment the body the Lord gave them. But then again even as a child his faith was weary. He didn’t understand religion but since his family practiced it, he did too. It made sense for the most part back then, but he began to realise that if there was a God, he fucking hated the world he created if he, or she, or whatever had the balls to throw everyone for a tailspin and toss them into an unforgiving shit storm. His mother said he was testing his followers to see if they would stay loyal, even when the dead roamed the earth and ripped humanity limb from limb. Literally. Some sort of cruel joke that was.

Throwing on his everyday ensemble, he stood with a few of his raw joints giving a good snap. (Y/N) shrugged his backpack onto his shoulders, knife at his belt and his gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans. The autumn chill hit him like a slap to the face as he escaped through the alley and into the abandoned street, putting on his gloves after the wakeup call. It was quiet, a couple birds chanted their songs somewhere and the creak of a store sign was swinging in the soft breeze.

Then there was thunder. _Maybe it will rain afterall._

But it was no thunder. A roaring truck screeching its brakes as it turned onto his street made him cringe, followed by his own hasty footsteps back into the alley. Slamming, yelling, cursing followed suit after the idling engine was ordered to be shut off.

 _Great, more assholes,_ he thought as he crouched behind a couple trash bins. There wasn’t any means of escape, a wall blocked a way out behind him, and going through the store wouldn’t work because the only other door led to the front of the mom and pop business. The diner beside him wouldn’t work either because the only door you saw yesterday was at the front. (Y/N) huffed, half listening to the grunts of men and women jumping out of the truck, and perhaps a car or two, then yelling from some guy barking out orders to tell everyone to search the block and take anything and everything useful. He could hear the smug grin on his face.

_Fuck._

Heavy boots clomping around in all directions blurred his sense of where everyone was. It sounded like only a handful of guys thankfully. Maybe he’d just have to make a distraction and run. While deep in thought, trying to concoct some sort of plan, he didn’t hear careful footfalls coming towards him until he had but moments to react. He lunged at the poor soul, rather gracefully stumbling towards them, and then latched an arm around their neck, slipping his knife from his belt before pressing it to their neck.

 _Ouch. Sick burn._ The greasy haired man he strained to hold wore a scaly scar across their face. He winced at it.

“Listen man, I don’t want any trouble. Just let me run and y’all will never see me again,” he hushed into their ear, knife still firm against the man’s surprisingly calm pulse.

“You’re going to regret this.”

That was the last he heard. In a split second his blade clattered to the ground, and his face was being shoved into the rough pavement, scuffing up his cheek. He growled to deter from the fact he was scared shitless. The blond took him by the hair with a sharp and bony grip, then bent one of his arms uncomfortably behind his back.

“Fuck off man!” Similar to a child being carried out of a store by their parents, he flailed his legs around while he was dragged into the street, making a bigger fuss than he probably should have. All eyes were locked on him. “Dude! I said I’d take off I swear I don’t have jack shit, just let me go!” A sharp kick was delivered to his back after briefly being let go, pushing him into a submissive kneel. A string of curse words left his lips while he panicked, nonetheless there was a composed scowl on his features. He’d encountered guys like this before but it was easy then, he just ran away and hoped to god they didn’t see him or he _actually_ had means of escape. Maybe his luck had just run out. More assholes gathered around him, guns aimed at his head. This was it. His faith in God was gone but for a brief passing moment he thought about seeing his family in heaven. Though after all he’d done in the end of times, he was positive that was not where he were going. “Come on man- I’m just a nobody let me go-!” a blow to the head made him cry out with a hiss, shutting his attitude up in concern he’d get hit again.

“ _Shut up_ ,” the greasy blond man snarled through his teeth, shoving the blunt icy tip of his pistol against his temple.

“Well, well, well! What the _fuck_ do we have here, Dwighty?” A new voice put emphasis on each syllable with a stomp before stilling.

He had the same question. _Who the fuck was that?_ (Y/N)’s vision was slightly fuzzy from the misleading tears in his eyes that were from pain pulsing from the back of his skull rather than fear. Eyes glued to the pavement, he didn’t dare look up at the booming voice in front of him, assumably the one and only man in charge.

“Just some kid.”

“A kid huh?” He heard the sound of the man scratching his beard.

“Fucker jumped me.”

A hearty laugh. “Really? This _‘kid’_ jumped you?”

(Y/N) had the urge to look up but instead only glanced over, noticing a dull light being reflected off of a barbed bat. _Jesus Christ I’m going to die._ A few gentler steps were taken towards him, his heart galloping in his chest and his eyes darting between the two boots in front of him. A soft chuckle left the guy in charge.

“That true, kid?”

He said nothing, worried he’d say the wrong thing, bringing his untimely demise quicker than he had intended, by a barbed wire baseball bat no less. _What a psycho._ A harsh gloved hand yanked at his chin, a half cry half gasp slipping from his throat, it turning into a quiet growl towards the end, regretfully so. A fiery twinkle in the man’s eyes sent a chill raking up and down his spine.

“Speak when you are spoken to, kid,” His firm tone sent chills raking up and down his spine, a hiccup followed suit with tears dripping down to the man's glove.

“I-I was just going to leave man, I really don't want any trouble. I don't have much, just take my bag and you’ll never see me again,” the embarrassing quiver in his not-so-intimidating voice made him flush. He squared his jaw and blinked feverishly, attempting to appear composed. Obviously it didn’t work because the man only grinned some more. The different groups he came upon during the apocalypse slowly chipped away at the confidence he had left. The confidence that spilled blood onto his hands without falter, except when it came to those he cared about. But he didn't care, did he? Not about himself. That is what he was afraid of. Giving up, forfeiting his fight and letting death take over and control a cannibalistic vessel he used to call his body.

“Hey- calm the fuck down kid, I’m not going to hurt ya.” Finally mustering up the courage to stare him point blank in the eye, he brushed off his undying desire to give it all up right now, allowing a murderous twitch in his eye before their gazes connected. (Y/N) swallowed harshly, eyes trailing up the body of the now crouching man before him. “I was just gonna say that was pretty badass, I don’t know about you snottin’ all over the place now, but tryin’ to take down one of my top guys? Takes some mighty guts.” _Snotting all over, my ass._

His toothy grin sent a different kind of chill down (Y/N)’s back. The kind that made his heart flutter and his cheeks flush with heat.

  
“ _I’m Negan._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh good lord jesus this took me forever. Rereading and rereading until I hated it, but I continued to edit it to make it as good as I can with my skills atm, yada yada yada, look at me I finally posted it. My updates will be awkward bc i take so long to write bc perfectionism n stuff but i will try to do it as regularily as I can!!
> 
> Until next time, see y'all later.


	2. Bruised

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changed the name bc i didn't like it lol
> 
> Stick around for my endnote!

_ Negan. _

_ What kind of name is that?  _

He ignored the flutter in the pits of his stomach. Instead he yanked back his chin, causing an irritated glint in Negan’s eyes. 

“No ‘Hi Negan, my name is blah-blah?’ No ‘Thank you for not killing me?’ Wow,” the man sighed, “Not cool.”

He abruptly stood, standing like a smug mountain in front of (Y/N). Negan scratched his beard, dramatically sighing again, then tapped his foot thoughtlessly on the pavement. The faux I’m-thinking-in-depth-look nearly made (Y/N) snort. 

“Excuse the shit out of me, but I thought we could talk like men here. So where are your manners?”

(Y/N) squinted up at him, thoughts scrambling in his head. If he didn’t know any better he’d say that Negan didn’t want to kill him. As easy as that could be. The question was why didn’t he want to kill him? He could’ve slit Dwight’s throat and peeled the hell out of there. No sense in keeping danger around when there was plenty wandering about. Perhaps it’s not that Negan didn’t want to kill him, rather it’d be too easy. After all, (Y/N) didn’t wear the same ageing face everyone else wore. He was just a boy who lost his way. Negan didn’t seem the type to murder kids, well, 19 year olds. Although he could be wrong. Maybe he was just some asshole with a bat and a nonchalant thirst for blood.

“(Y/N).”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s my name.”  _ Idiot. _

Negan's tongue darted out of his mouth to lick over his lips. 

“(Y/N), huh,” Negan chirped. 

(Y/N) shifted uncomfortably with so many pairs of eyes on him. It was like he was back in church with the whole neighbourhood watching him butcher gospels. Ever since he ran out of there crying, he didn’t care much for being the centre of everyone’s attention. His mother insisted he did fine, his father agreeing silently behind her. Still didn’t cease his obnoxious sobs of embarrassment. Nonetheless, his siblings took the heat trying to explain to their friends why their little brother was such a cry baby. He hated an audience. 

“Now tell me, (Y/N). Are you going to keep them manners, or do I have to beat them into you?” He cocked his head, a faint smile on his lips as he spoke.

(Y/N) swallowed. Death via a bat that came straight outta some apocalyptic video game.  _ Harsh. _ He nodded, hopefully conveying he’d keep his manners. Not the latter of getting beat to death.

“Smart choice, young man, very smart. Got one more question for ya’.” Negan crouched again. He held the blunt tip of his bat against (Y/N)’s scraped cheek. He winced and blinked his watering eyes. 

“Who are you?”

_ What the fuck does that mean? I just told him my name. Is he fucking deaf? _ He furrowed his brow, unsure of how to answer his stupid question. ‘Who are you?’ He was a 19-year-old named (Y/N). He was a boy who went from eating raw cookie dough that was for a bake sale, to eating raw squirrel to stay alive. He was a teenager who never got to experience getting a license, his first  _ real _ kiss, graduating, or having sex. He was a kid who lost almost everything. But he was sure Negan didn’t want to hear his life story. 

“Kid, I’m not hearin’ anything.”

His heart rate picked up.  _ What do I say? _

“I-I don’t know.”

Negan grinned.  _ Fuck. _ “Wrong answer, kid.”

He stood, hoisting his bat onto his shoulder. _ Time to die over a meaningless question. _ (Y/N) shut his eyes and prepared himself. But there was nothing. He peeked out of one eye before frowning, dumfounded at what he saw. All his men and women were kneeling. As submissive as he was. He swallowed. 

“Who are you?” 

(Y/N) parted his lips to repeat himself, but he was cut off by a unanimous and ominous, answer. 

“Negan.”

“Tell me again, come on you sorry shits. Louder!”

“Negan!” There was a smug and satisfied grin on his lips. His eyes matched his smile with a look of superiority. (Y/N) winced. Negan giving a breathy chuckle. The early morning air was cold, making him look like a seething dragon. Goose flesh rose up all over (Y/N)’s skin, the baby hairs on his neck then stood at attention. Negan huffed, clicking his tongue before his piercing glare made (Y/N) feel like he was miniscule. An ant under a magnifying glass, about to be torched. Slamming the blunt end of his bat against the concrete, in between (Y/N)’s thighs, a whimper of sorts clawing its way out of his lips, Negan leaned in towards him.

“Who are  _ you? _ ”

(Y/N) stares up at him with a mangled mix of anger and desperation. 

He swallowed.

“ _ Negan. _ ”

 

-

 

A bump in the road made him slam his head into the floor of the truck.  _ Again _ . (Y/N) groaned, this was the third time he woke up via an inconvenient rock on the street. He was trying to get some sleep, seeing as there was nothing else to do. Part of him was beginning to believe they were driving like this one purpose. His wrists ached and were crusty with dried blood. Zip ties fucking sucked but they sure as hell did their job, that was for sure. It rubbed his skin raw, all fleshy and bloody where layers of his skin were scraped off. A bad-night’s-sleep-ache is one thing, this was a whole ‘nother level. It was full body soreness from kicks n’ scrapes and unknown bruises on top of the dread lingering in his stomach.

“You awake?” The man accompanying him in the back perked up. He fiddled with the oil lantern until there was a light glow, just enough to illuminate their faces. He nearly forgot he was there.

“Sadly,” (Y/N) murmured into the cool floor of the van. It soothed the heat coming from the fresh scrape on the apple of his cheek. The man watched him silently, still and contemplating. A granola bar was tucked into his coat pocket, his hand tracing its wrapper. The boy appeared haggard, which pulled at his heart strings. He was instructed “ _ to not give the little shit anything. _ ” But what did they know? What they didn’t know couldn’t hurt them. Although, if caught, this could come back to bite him in the ass.

“Here.” He retrieved the bar from his coat before holding a finger to his lips, and shushing (Y/N). To which he sheepishly took. 

“Name’s Trevor,” he offered with a smile and a dark outstretched hand. He couldn’t have been any older than 30 but his demeanor made him seem juvenile. (Y/N) took his hand, giving an affirmative shake as if to say thank you.

“(Y/N). But you probably knew that.”

“Yeah…”

There was a lull in conversation. He didn’t mind. There was an awkward haze between them anyway. Trevor seemed nice enough, he’d give him that, but he seemed off. Unsure. Like he was worried. Probably about feeding him because Negan made it quite clear to do exactly  _ not _ that. Trevor was watching (Y/N) eat while he mulled over his regret.

_ “Don’t give the little shit anything, he can eat when we’re all home. Safe and sound.” _ A grin.  _ “Have a safe trip.” _

Either that or the fact this was grunt work. No one wants to watch the toddler in the back of a moving van because he can’t be trusted alone.  _ Figures.  _ (Y/N) decided to interrupt the pause in communication. First with a long hum while he searched for his words.

“Where are we going?”

Another pause. “The Sanctuary.”

“The Sanctuary? Doesn’t seem to keen on new guys.” _ What sort of fairytale bullshit?  _

“It’s not always like this. I’m surprised you weren’t shot point-blank between the eyes with the look Dwight was giving you.”

“Tell me about it.” He chewed on his lip. “Am I gonna be like his little minions? Chanting his name at his beck n’ call?”

“Yes, unless you like being beat to death. Only people he doesn’t make do that are his wives.”

“ _ Wives? _ As in  _ plural? _ ”

“Yeah. Like 6.”

_ What have you gotten yourself into? _

(Y/N) shifts uncomfortably. 

It’s not like he had much experience with relationships, but polygamy made him a little… weirded out, maybe? He remembered holding a girl’s hand in 3rd grade. She then held hands with another boy which ended in them breaking up. That was about it. Although he did have his first ‘kiss’ just before the descent into the apocalypse. He was at bible camp hiding behind a rack of kayaks. It was swimming day and his closest friend, Dain, asked him to sneak off from the group. He then confessed his weird feelings and kissed him, short and sweet. Then he ran off without another word to (Y/N) for the rest of the week. This encounter left a strange taste in his mouth, one of guilt and love for his best friend. He loved Dain, but not the way his mother loved his father. Not the way Dain loved him. More so like he loved his older siblings. After their rendez-vous, and after the trip altogether, they were close. They silently agreed they were more than friends but they couldn’t put a name to what they were. It was wrong in the eyes of all the parents in the neighborhood, and they didn't understand the homophobic looks they'd get when they held hands. The boys’ parents were confused, too. Each family saying it was just a friend thing to mask the obvious reason that their sons fancied each other.

“(Y/N)?”

“Yeah?” He tore his attention away from his army of dinosaurs and action figures in the living room ‘battlefield.’ 

“You know that you and Dain aren’t…” His mom paused and sat down next to him, “That you aren’t like dad and I?”

“Why not?”

“Because boys can’t be with other boys,” her voice was delicate.

“Who says?”

“God says, sweetie.” An affirmative hand rested on his shoulder.

(Y/N) was quiet, a small part of him not wanting to accept the silent plea from his mother to stop being with Dain. Not long after, walkers started showing up on TV and he hadn’t seen Dain or their family since.

Another dip in the road made him bump his skull into the wall of the moving van, eliciting a few curses. “Do they always fuckin’ drive like this?”

“No, it’s a dominance thing, I guess. Like to show em’ who runs the show no matter how annoying they are.” Trevor shrugged, watching the oil lamp flicker. “I don’t know. Probably because you gave them a hard time. Taste of your own medicine.”

“This happen to you too?”

Trevor chuckled, amused. “No. Then again I didn’t threaten to kill Dwight, either.”

The poke at his actions made him crack a smile. That was really dumb of him to do. Heat of the moment or whatever. He didn’t want to admit that he was somewhat enjoying the rebellious phase he was in. As a kid, he was always compliant and would do whatever he was told. Now he’d only do something if it meant life or death or if he actually wanted to do it. Out of the goodness of his heart. Maybe.

“Any chance you’d take off these fucking zip-ties?”

Trevor smiled sadly and shook his head. “Not if I want to stay on Negan’s good side.”

(Y/N) sat silently before laughing at himself. How did he end up here? How did the world end up here? Dead and rotting away. He thought for a moment after his giggles subsided, then he turned to face the other. “Do you ever think about how changing one little thing could change the future?”

“Odd question. I don’t think I have, no.”

“Just wondering how the fuck I landed here. What did I do so wrong to get this?”

“Come on, this won’t be that bad. Learn the rules. Blend in. Stay out of the way.”  _ That’s exactly what I don’t want to do _ . He wants to live. To not feel like he’s under a magnifying lense and being watched for the tiniest of mistakes. At the farm it was almost like they weren’t in an apocalypse. While on his own he could do whatever he pleased. This was a prison.

Brakes screeched below them, and the sound of a fist collided with the wall. 

“Come on Sleeping Beauty, we got ya home safe and sound,” Simon’s voice was muffled until he threw the door open. The light blinded Trevor and (Y/N). Apparently in the 3 and a half hour drive they drove into some sunshine. Thank God because the grey overcast everyday was depressing as shit. If stuck with gloomy clouds over head wasn’t enough to make someone depressed, being vitamin-d deficient definitely did the trick.

(Y/N) huffed, struggling to pick himself up with his hands bound together in front of him. Just as he was about to gather his balance, he was taken by the hair again and tugged out of the truck. He made a loud thud and a cloud of dust when he hit the dirt. Trevor hopped off the edge and looked down at him with sympathy in his eyes.

“Welcome to the Sanctuary, kid.”  _ Too bad there’s not enough room for everyone with your annoyingly large moustache.  _

“Let's get you set up, huh? Would ya’ like that? No more runnin’ or looking for a place to hide for some shut eye.” Simon gave a large slap to the middle of (Y/N)’s back once he was picked up off the ground. His smile at least was attractive, if you ignore everything else about him. Especially his weird need, like Dwight, to move people via yanking off their scalp.

“If you don’t pull anything, you’ll get to keep a nice room all to yourself. A bed, a fridge, even a bookshelf with a matching dresser. Mighty generous. What was Negan saying about manners earlier?” Simon’s hand brushed through (Y/N)’s hair a few times, a bright smile on his lips before he turned cold, gripping (Y/N)’s locks and tugging him close to the balding man. He winced and struggled to stay up right. An irritated growl left him before he could catch it, his eyes ticked with involuntary tears from the tugging at his hair. 

“ _ Thank you, _ ” he gritted through his teeth.

He was escorted through a few sets of gates, all adorned with walkers, with Simon’s rough grip on his arm. He set up a bit too fast of a pace for (Y/N) to keep up with as his feet stuttered alongside the long strides he was told to copy. Workers in the yard stared, eagerly peering around to see the newcomer. They were somewhat pleasantly surprised to notice it was a younger person. Not someone aged and withering away, someone better off being tethered to the fence.

He was showed his room, or what would be his room if he followed the rules and listened to what he was told. Then finally, his wrists were untied. He shuddered as he cautiously caressed the raw flesh. To which he was thrown an antibacterial ointment packet and a roll of bandages to wrap his wrists with.

“If you just calmed the fuck down and sat still, your arms woulda’ been fine,” Dwight barked. “Put your clothes in the basket and someone will bring you somethin’ to wear while it’s being washed.”

Dwight’s tone was somewhat endearing then, since he too was in the same place when he first got here. He understood the hassle of adjusting to a new camp and how it was run.

“Take a shower and go upstairs, the boss wants to see you.” With that, the blond was gone.

He was told there were showers down the hall and he was a little too excited to feel hot water again. At the farm they had warm water, but it only lasted for a little bit as to not waste electricity keeping it hot. Once a month or so he got the opportunity to take a five minute shower with lovely hot water. The boilers here must be huge so he assumed that the hot water wouldn't run out anytime soon. Luckily no one was in the communal showers, so he was free to undress without hiding himself. He reluctantly gave up his clothes in exchange for sweatpants and a black v-neck for the time being. He placed the socks and underwear alongside the stack of clothes on the counter. Tip-toeing to one of the stalls, he felt all too giddy. Not wanting to wait any longer, he twisted the handle and pipes squeaked to life before a steamy rain poured out of the showerhead.  _ It’s too good to be true. _ It burned the sensitive skin on his wrists but was welcomed over the rest of his body. The water turned a bloody brown from the dirt and blood washing off, all puddled at his feet.

“Fucking christ,” (Y/N) laughed rather boisterously.

He bathed his skin in suds from a small bottle of scented body wash. Nothing like spending months smelling like dirt, sweat, and walker guts to appreciate the smell of cherry blossoms like he was now. He scrubbed his hair until the water ran clean beneath him. He hardly noticed he was fogging up the whole room with steam until he decided he was done and stepped out of the stall. The towel wasn’t very absorbent and it was quite itchy. Nonetheless he was thankful. He hardly recognised himself when he swiped his hand across the mirror. A strong young man who had seen and done things a boy his age shouldn’t have. A boy who was covered in too many cuts and scrapes and scars and bruises. He dabbed the salve onto each abrasion, then wrapped his arms. The clean cloth of the black tee felt like velvet compared to his soiled shirt he’d been wearing for months, too busy to look for clothes that fit him.

With one last look in the mirror, soaking up the new image he had of himself now that he was clean, (Y/N) sighed then started creeping around the halls to find the stairwell that had access to Negan’s floor.

The hall was silent when he poked his head in. No chatter or the comgloberation of heavy boots and the squeaking of carts toting materials around the campus. There were a few doors in this wing. One that was open to a bathroom, a rather luxurious one at that. The two others were shut. The one closest to the bathroom, as he got closer to it, hid some quiet chatter. 

_ “Did you see the newcomer?” _

_ “No, too many people crowding around the poor guy.” _

_ “All I heard is that he’s younger.” _

_ “Was he cute?” _ A different girl spoke up.

_ “I don’t know, that’s all I overheard on a walkie. That they found some kid that tried to kill Dwight.” _

There was a soft gasp and a lull in conversation. He decided it was best to keep it moving and he shuffled towards the last room, which with the process of elimination, was Negan’s room. He was just about to knock but his knuckles didn't hit the door, instead hit a tshirt clad chest.

“Took you quite a while. Heard you were enjoying the showers?” Negan grinned, his eyebrows raised after noticing that (Y/N)’s hand hadn't left his chest yet. Once he finally realised where his hand was resting he frowned and took his hand back, crossing his arms over his own chest. The sour taste of venom swirled around his mouth but he decided it was best to keep quiet and not get into trouble. If being carelessly tossed into a moving van that was driven by a maniac, hands bound oppressively tight, was considered tame treatment, then he didn’t want to know what would happen if he  _ really _ fucked up. He settled for a curt nod.

“Come on in, then.” Negan’s arm wrapped around (Y/N)’s shoulders and threw him into the dim room. Upon entering he noticed it was clean,  _ homey _ even, compared to the rest of the dull compound. Clad in greys and blacks, the room appeared darker than it was with the natural light streaming in through the cracks of the drapes. He hadn’t seen a room like this since he was at home. And that was 9 long, bloody years ago.

“So tell me, (Y/N), not too shabby? Realise you had no reason to resist?”

Another curt nod.

“Oughta’ apologise to poor Dwight for nearly cuttin’ his throat,” his tone was distracted as he poured out two glasses of bourbon. Well, (Y/N) couldn’t exactly tell what it was. Growing up in an apocalypse put you in a precarious position to try and experiment with liquor or drugs. It would be incredibly idiotic to want to be impaired while fighting for your life. It was safe enough now though, right? Indoors, locked up, safe. Maybe. When handed the stubby glass, he held onto it awkwardly as Negan downed his first drink. Maybe he wouldn’t notice that he wasn’t drinking along with him.

“Oh shit. I forgot.” Negan grinned, leaning back ever so slightly while he pointed with an incisive finger,“You’re underage, aren’t you?”

Lips apart preparing to respond, (Y/N) was left wordless, choosing to nod again.  _ You’re gonna look like a fucking bobblehead, speak, dumbass.  _ “I’m uh,” he paused, as if he nearly forgot, “I’m nineteen.”

“Well then. Guess we just won’t tell you’re folks, huh?”

There was a twang of pain in his chest at the mentioning of his parents. Apparently he looked uncomfortable because Negan noticed.

“Oh, kid, are they…” He made a squelching noise as he ran his thumb over his neck.

_ Dead. _

(Y/N) chose not to respond for a moment. “They died shortly after shit went down. I’ve been with groups here and there but,” a painful pause of remembrance, “I’ve been on my own for the most part.”

Negan’s brow pinched together as he sucked down the last of his drink. (Y/N) couldn't help but watch his throat bob as he swallowed. There was a light shudder in his spine that thankfully went unnoticed. A salt and pepper patch of hair peaked above the older man's shirt, just below his collar bones. His shirt clung to his torso in a way that captivated (Y/N)’s eyes while they continued to trail down. His legs were the same case, clad in jeans that hugged his muscular thighs. He was hypnotising.

“Well, I’m honoured to host your first drink,” Negan interrupted (Y/N)’s thoughts while he poured out a second drink. He held up the glass and expected the boy to do the same. So he did, with less confidence. They both knocked it back with a silent toast. Negan was fine, the virgin drinker wasn’t. His eyes watered up while he choked it back, a few feverish coughs followed. This was obviously amusing to Negan as he was chuckling breathlessly, the same Colgate smile on his stupid face.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” he coughed into the pit of his arm. He brushed the tears from his eyes and off his cheeks when his coughing fit subsided. He couldn’t help but chuckle along with Negan. He must’ve looked like an idiot.

Negan stopped laughing after a while, (Y/N) followed. His demeanor changed and it made the air thick and tense. “Do you know why I didn’t just kill you this morning?” Loaded question that was. (Y/N) had his suspicions, like it’d be too easy or because he just wasn’t that type of guy. Now that the question was proposed though, he wasn’t sure what Negan was trying to get at. He’d have to tread lightly or he might end up dead after all. Saying it’s too easy could offend him. Saying he wasn’t the type would just stroke his ego. Either way he didn’t want to say anything.

“As much as I want to think you’re a good samaritan who wouldn’t kill a teenager,” a flare of confidence swelled in his chest, “I’m useful. You saw that, and as far as I know you’re not a moron who’d kill off someone that could give you an advantage in this world.”

The edge of his tone made Negan raise his brows, intrigued and somewhat impressed. No one says a word that would imply anything bad of the big and powerful Negan unless they had a death wish. As far as he knew maybe the kid did. 

“That’s a pretty ballsy answer.”

Negan took a few heavy steps towards (Y/N), a smirk on his lips and a look in his eye that read ‘tread lightly.’ (Y/N) was proud of his response but in the end he was weary of how the man would react. Lucille was only a few feet away, resting against a desk.

“You know, I admire that sharp tongue of yours, kid, but there seems to be a lack of understanding that you don’t get to say shit like that to someone who owns you.”

“ _ Owns _ me?” As thrilling as the stern tone in Negan’s voice was, (Y/N) wasn’t going to put up with being  _ owned _ . “I don’t fucking think so.”

“Don’t you now?”

“No I don’t.”

Negan was closer yet as the heat began to rise between the two. (Y/N)’s desire to disobey was just as strong as Negan’s desire to hold all of the cards being played. Negan was top-dog and if you disagree then bye-bye to your peachy-keen life. He could almost feel Negan’s breath mingle with his own. A blush creeping to his cheeks, (Y/N) bit his tongue.

“See, the problem with that is,” He pushed his finger into (Y/N)’s chest until he was flush against the door, “I don’t like little shits like you thinking you make the law of the land. But, you’re knew. I can handle a slip up like this if you can put on your big boy pants and brighten the fuck up. New world is led by me. You provide for me. You  _ belong _ to me. Any if’s and’s or but’s about it and _ maybe  _ I will just have to speak to my pretty little Lucille.  _ Maybe _ her and I will have to just  _ beat _ it into you that  _ you _ don’t run things here.” There was a pause. The anger in his voice was quiet, but ready to overflow like a boiling pot. Negan grinned again, as sweet as a wolf in sheep’s clothing. “Catch my drift, kid?” (Y/N) was nearly seething. Rebellious teenage instincts aside, this was not something he could just grow to be okay with. 

“I’ll reiterate, maybe you didn’t understand the first time,” his tone was sweet like honey, but turned sour, “I’m not going to be some prick’s bitch.”

Negan clicked his tongue and laughed for a moment, his wide chest rumbling with faux amusement. “You’re going to wish you’d never been born after that, kid--”

“Stop calling me ‘kid,’ asshole.”

“Oh-ho-ho! Using big boy words now, are we?” His hand seized towards (Y/N)’s chin, an iron-like grip bruising his skin. “Come on, doll. Is this really worth dying over?”  _ Doll. _ (Y/N)’s heart skipped. He mentally cursed at his reaction towards a meaningless pet name. Negan snatched his hand back, leaning in real close towards the boy’s ear then sighed. “You will obey me, doll…” His husky voice made (Y/N)’s knees buckle. Any other asshole could do this and he wouldn’t blink an eye before dropping their ass. He wasn’t about to take shit from anyone. He wasn’t going to give in to a dictator with a fragile ego. Even if his good looks made him want to faint. He couldn’t. His body felt disconnected from his brain, though. As much as he wanted to make a run for it and take his chances with Lucille, the close proximity between the two left him wanting more. To have their chests flush with one another and feel the smouldering anger in his core. Though he was trying to tell himself to stand his ground, he felt tiny. Wrapped around Negan’s finger and he didn’t even know it. 

“Make me.”  _ How juvenile. _

Negan squinted before his eyes were blown wide. (Y/N) had closed the gap between the two, standing on his tiptoes to lock the two of them in a heated kiss. What the fuck was he doing? He was kissing a man with six wives. Kissing a man who enjoyed beating people with a bat. But he didn’t care. And apparently neither did Negan because he didn’t pull away. Negan had pulled him in closer yet. He lost track of time and their angry kiss was a blur. It was powerful and forceful, a mesh of teeth and tongue and eager hands. Hands exploring one another's bodies and following the dips and curves. His lack of experience was made up for in enthusiasm, and because he was mimicking Negan as closely as he could. It was exhilarating and frightening having someone much more competent to partner in a kiss with. Exciting because they showed the same fervor, but intimidating because the odds were stacked against him with Negan having a successful background in kissing and the ins and outs of making a person feel good.  The two pulled away for air, (Y/N) biting at Negan’s swollen lower lip when they separated.

They were both flushed, (Y/N) more so. “I’ve always wanted to do that after seeing it in a movie,” he sheepishly confessed

They sat and stared at one another, dazed at what had just transpired between the two men.

“Well, Jesus, doll,” he finally spoke up, snickering, “If I’d known you were going to make a move like that, I’d’ve had you up front with me during the roadtrip.”

The swell of confidence in his lungs was flushed out with a shaky sigh. The sudden realisation of his actions hit him. He froze.  _ Why the fuck did I do that? Am I a fucking moron? Kissing a blood thirsty sugar daddy in the apocalypse? Ain’t that smart of an idea, dumbfuck.  _ As much as he wanted to listen to his subconscious, the smirk on Negan’s lips just prodded the coals in his belly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!!!  
> Agh! I'm so sorry for the giant delay in updating. Two weeks ago I was in the hospital in treatment because I was hella depressed. But I'm doing better now and might be able to get on to posting regularly. Aka not having a two month gap between updates. Super sorry y'all, hope this was okay!


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